


Hey sol wwanna cyber(pet)

by iwantcandy2



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub, Timeline Shenanigans, hey i think it's funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantcandy2/pseuds/iwantcandy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a desperate bid to save something close to his heart, Eridan consults the king of computers and begs for his benevolence. It's like the setup to a bad porno, expect instead of having sex they have awkward shenanigans. </p><p>Also, Karkat and Dave are sealed in a room and suffocating. But that part isn't important to the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey sol wwanna cyber(pet)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time coding the pesterlogs, so please excuse any awkwardness. Or don't. *shrug*

The evening was going great so far. You were feeling peaceful, no migraines had surfaced, and everything was just fan-freaking-tastic. But then you actually had to wake up, and that’s when everything went to shit. The moment you dragged yourself out of your recuperacoon, you could feel the electric dance of a headache starting behind your eyes. It was going to be one of those days. Despite being tempted to turn around and just go back to sleep, you decided to at least boot up your computer. 

Big mistake. As soon as the screen came to too-bright life, you were greeted with the unwelcome sight of a purple plea.

CA: sol  
CA: sol i need some tech support  
CA: my computer is actin funny  
CA: could you take a look at it  
CA: its kind of urgent

You growled in the back of your throat. Just because you are a veritable god of silicomb doesn’t mean you enjoy being everyone’s go-to geek. It’s like once people figure out you know how to code, they think you have a compulsive need to play troll Samaritan with every ailing computer.

TA: fuck you.  
TA: fiix your own damn computer.  
CA: but sol this is urgent  
CA: i need a wworkin computer by tonight  
TA: why?  
TA: are you goiing through iinten2e porn wiithdrawl?  
TA: havent rubbed one off iin half an hour and now you got the 2hake2?  
CA: fuck you pissblood  
CA: some of us havve important duties to take care of

He’s probably talking about FLARPing. Either that or his court of highblood assholes, who like to talk about killing all landdwellers. Either way, you aren’t inclined to help him.

TwinArmageddons [TA] has blocked Caligula’sAquarium [CA]!

There. Now you can get back to hating your existence in peace.

For all of half an hour. You hear a frantic tribal beat coming from the front door to your hive. You’re half-way through an intense session of hating the universe and everyone in it, so you would consider just ignoring it. However, the delicate threads of a migraine floating around your head threaten to squeeze. You decide that you really don’t need the extra noise, so you go open the door. 

You decide you also don’t need to put up with the purple-caped prick on the other side, so you attempt to slam the door. However, Eridan manages to hold it open with one arm, his other cradling a laptop to his chest. With all the strength of a seadweller, he pushes past the threshold and shows himself inside.

“Get out,” you order, letting your psionics crackle around you. It’s just for show. You feel like shit and if you try anything more strenuous than a strobe light with your powers, you’re going to end up with a nose bleed and a night full of blistering head ache.

“Fix this,” Eridan commands, holding out the laptop like he’s offering you roast cluckbeast on a platter. You’re tempted to swat it out of his hand and onto the ground, but you know that would just result in drawn out theatrics.

“I don’t have time for thith,” you snarl, which is an outright lie. You have no plans, and were probably going to spend the rest of the day staring at the ceiling. It would be more accurate to say that you aren’t feeling well and you don’t have the energy to put up with Eridan’s seven flavors of flirtatious neediness, but you aren’t going to admit that out loud.

“I can stay here all fuckin day,” Eridan warns you, squaring his shoulders like he’s getting ready to climb the vast wall of your stubbornness. “The sooner you fix this, the sooner I can be on my way.”

You can feel your resolve crumbling like crackers in soup. The headache you have been fighting back is knocking lightly on your skull, asking to be let out. With a sigh, you choose the path of least resistance.

“Thit over there and don’t touch anything,” you growl, snatching the computer out of his hands. Eridan acts like he doesn’t hear, standing uncomfortably close behind you as you settle into your desk. “Hey athhole, how about thome personal thpace?” you ask, shooting him a look over your shoulder.

“I’m just makin shore you don’t mess with my files,” he sniffs, smug as a slitherbeast.

“I can’t work with you breathing down my neck,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. If you let on how much this bothers you, he is sure to keep at it. “Look, I have no dethire to browthe your porn collection. Tho for the love of the Condethe, thit your ath down and be quiet.”

He curls his lip at you, obviously trying to think of a witty comeback. But when his think pan fails to provide, he settles for snatching your computer off the table and stalking to the far side of the room.

The pounding in your head swells, your agitation making the inside of your skull steam. You grit your teeth and tell yourself to ignore him. You know he’s just trying to get your bleatbeast. 

_Don’t loose it, Sollux. You are better than he is._

You grit your overly-fanged mouth hard enough to hear the creak of bone and open his laptop to find out what the fuck is wrong with it. You just hope it’s something easy to fix.

**Eridan**

Sol’s hive is boring as hell. The place is small and ugly and smells like reconstituted grub paste and sweaty socks. To top it all off, Sol is engrossed in your computer, doing a system check or whatever the hell it is nerds do to fix computers. He’s being awfully slow about it, too. 

To kill time, you decide to mess around on his laptop. Your initial idea was to log onto his Trollbook page and post “I drink from buckets” or something. You know, some unquestionably platonic trolling. However, as soon as you open up his laptop, you see a Trollian alert flashing in the corner of the screen. 

You open the window, and are immensely relieved to see that it isn’t Fef trolling him. It’s some douchebag you’ve never talked to. And he is typing in the most atrocious color imaginable.

Future TurntechGodhead [FTG] began trolling TwinArmageddons [TA]

FTG: yo sup my bifurcated brother  
FTG: you dont know me but i assure you i am the raddest of brothers  
FTG: on any other day i would be willing to prove this to you through extensive rap battles and witty repartees but i happen to be a busy man  
FTG: bitches be all up in my grill like sweaty hotdogs at a fourth of july barbeque  
FTG: like theyre all over that grill  
FTG: all rolling around in it letting off their sausage juice  
FTG: anyway long story short I need some serious tech support

You glance up at Sol. He’s bent over your computer, chewing his lip and glaring at the screen. He’s actually so furious at it that little sparks are coming off his horns. You decide he’s too focused to pay much attention to you.

TA: wwhat makes you think i hand out tech support like candy  
TA: i mean what makes you think i hand out tech support like candy  
TA: i mean, ii mean what make2 you thiink ii hand out tech 2upport liike candy?  
TA: shit  
TA: I mean shiit.  
FTG:…  
FTG: okay who is this  
FTG: not a joke man we need sollux  
TA: ii am sollux  
TA: i mean 2ollux  
TA: 2ee? ii can’t even 2ay my own name riight.  
TA: wwho else beside2 2ollux i2 that pathetiiic?  
FTG: okay no  
FTG: not buying that for a second  
FTG: youre like a door to door salesman coming along with your little box of sweatshop trinkets  
FTG: trying to peddle them out to me  
FTG: and i just point to the no soliciting sign on the door and slam it in your face  
FTG: this shit is not happening  
TA: oh 2low down.  
TA: your metaphor2 are two compliicated for my two half2 of a thiink pan.  
FTG: this is the fish guy isnt it  
FTG: yup kitkat confirms that it is indeed the fish guy

You lean away from the computer, taken aback by the fact that they know who you are. You have never spoken to this douche before. And who the heck is “kitkat?” However, you suppose it is possible that your formidable reputation precedes you.

FTG: look were kind of on a deadline here  
FTG: as in were in line to be dead  
FTG: and we need some serious computer geek magic to not be dead  
TA: magic isnt real  
TA: I mean, magiic iisnt real.  
FTG: no  
FTG: you are going to stop doing this  
FTG: you are going to give the computer back to sollux  
FTG: and then you are going to go play with free willy in the sea and leave us the fuck alone  
FTG: lives are at stake  
TA: sol is doin somethin important right now and cant come to the computer  
FTG: more important than saving some cool dudes in the future  
TA: look if youre really from the future wwhy dont you just ask your sol to help  
FTG: cant  
FTG: dude took a one way ticket to the afterlife to go play eternal footsie with his girlfriend  
FTG: and were kinda in a bind here  
FTG: all sorts of temporal shenanigans be going down  
FTG: long story short this is the only time period we can connect to

You honestly can’t tell if they are roleplaying or just insane. As far as you know, Sol hates FLARPing, so that leaves the most likely option severe derangement of the think pan.

“Hey Sol,” you call, looking up from the computer.

“Not. _Now,_ ” he hisses, his voice venomous.

You deduce that he is in a very delicate part of the computer repairing process, and decide to leave him the fuck alone. 

You wait a few seconds before you start typing. 

TA: okay what2 the biig deal?  
FTG: thank fucking god  
FTG: i was about to start making sacrifices to a pagan deity  
FTG: use karkles here as a virgin offering to some dark god  
FTG: praying for benevolence and shit  
TA: ii wa2 under the iimpresiion that thi2 was urgent.  
TA: 2o iif you don’t miind hurry iit up.  
FTG: can do compadre  
FTG: look we need some help over riding an electronic keypad  
FTG: shits got us tucked in tighter than a toddler at nap time  
TA: have you triied ju2t 2ma2hing iit?  
TA: that 2eem2 liike the mo2t obviou2 2olutiion  
FTG: no bueno  
FTG: I got a doomed dave telling me that smashing the keypad is not the way to go

If on the off chance these people really are in danger, and not just delusional, then you really should hand over the computer to Sol. But that would mean risking your own computer.

Your babies.

Nope. You settle down for some serious roleplaying.

**Sollux**

You have to admit, you are mildly impressed by just how fucked up Eridan’s computer is. This isn’t your typical downloading too many toolbars for an internet browser. You fear the hard drive itself is corrupted, which means you have to do a fresh system install, which means you have to back up everything which means a FUCK load more time than you want.

ED is over at your computer, giggling like a grub. He thinks you don’t notice, but you do. Unfortunately, your brain is being too much of a useless shit right now to focus on two things, so you ignore him.

With a snap of your fingers, you call over your bees and begin the data back up. Their buzzing fills the room like the shaking of two thousand leaves in wind. Normally, it would take you hours to thoroughly back up all the data on a computer, making sure every last file is accounted for and triple checking and searching the directory. But these are ED’s files, so you aren’t really inclined to care. You just drag over whatever is sitting in his main folders. There’s no way you are wasting time backing up every single one of his games. The fucker is rich, he can buy them again if he has to. 

Your bees obediently brush against the USB (Universal Silicomb Bee) port, gathering up the data like pollen. After they’re done, you wipe the computer’s hard drive and work on a fresh system install.

Now all that’s left is to wait. Massaging the throbbing spot above your eyes, you push yourself away from the desk.

“Okay, repairth are underway. Now get the fuck off my computer,” you order, glaring at him.

“Is it done?” he asks, trouncing towards his computer like an overexcited puppy. 

“No, athhole, I thaid underway, not completed,” you say, picking up your computer aaaaaaaand what the fuck? “Who have you been talking to?”

“Oh, yeah, some people claimin to be from the future are trapped in an airtight room passing through some nightmarish realm that warps reality and has conveniently bridged the timeline allowing them to troll you in a desperate attempt to hack through the door and save themselves,” he responds, his eyes locked on the screen. He’s staring at the little completion bar like it’s an episode of Troll Friends.

You look at the chatlog.

FTG: okay that definitely didnt work  
FTG: but its cool man  
FTG: no rush  
FTG: got all the time in the world  
FTG: its not like were suffocating  
FTG: just relax grab a cold one maybe gehadfn kajfhce hin n fahxfnch dafajsh  
FTG: SOLLUX WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?  
FTG: IF I HAVE TO SPEND ONE MORE MILLISECOND BREATHING STRIDER’S FETID RECYCLED AIR, I SWEAR TO GOG THAT WHEN I DIE I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY BEING THE AWKWARD THIRD WHEEL TO YOU AND ARADIA’S NON-STOP SNOG FEST.  
TA: KK?  
FTG: NO, ITS FUCKING TROLL SANTA CLAUS.  
FTG: ALL YOU’RE GETTING FOR TWELFTH PERIGREE’S EVE IS A DIRTY BUCKET.  
FTG: LOOK, IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER WHO I AM.  
FTG: JUST HELP US OPEN THIS FUCKING LOCK.

Scanning the previous parts of the chatlog, you immediately identify the problem. You can also tell that ED has been providing the worst tech support imaginable.

With a sigh that ways ten pounds, you resign yourself to one more act of charitable geekery for the day.

**Eridan**

You bounce impatiently on the chair, trying not to look at the clock. It’s way past feeding time, but this thing is so fucking slow. You’d suspect Sol of sabotage, if he was capable of doing a less than perfect job a computer repair. You’ve both been too distracted to say anything to each other, him typing to his weird friends and you willing the little progress bar to stop taking its sweet time.

Finally, the welcoming chime of the computer blares. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Sol flinch and snarl. It makes you happy, even though you hadn’t planned it. Frantically, you open your start menu and…

It isn’t there. It isn’t fucking THERE.

“Sol, where the hell are my games?” you ask.

“Kinda busy.”

“My games. Did you fuckin uninstall all my shit?”

“One second.”

You cross the room, looming above him with all the height you can muster (height isn’t something one can really muster, so it doesn’t do much good). He doesn’t even spare you a look, his eyes glued to the screen and fingers flowing over the keyboard so fast you would swear it was just random flailing. 

“Sol. Where. Are. My. Ga-”

“Done,” he announces, leaning back and cracking his knuckles triumphantly. “Gueth who just thaved the world. Or thomething. I’m not entirely thure, to be honetht.”

He looks up at you like he just realized you were standing there. You glare at him for a second before asking, “Where the fuck did all of my games go?”

He blinks at you, and you can’t tell whether he’s affecting innocence or just plain clueless.

“Look, ED, I had to do a fresh thythtem inthtall. I didn’t have time to back up all your thtupid gameth. Get over it.”

“What?” you ask, sinking to your knees. You feel like someone just punched you in the stomach.

“It’th not a big deal. Jutht go home and reinthtall them.”

You can feel your face go into full pout. People accuse you of being a drama whore, but it’s not something you can control. The pout controls you.

“But you…but I…they’re gone.”

“What?”

“My babies. My digipets. I…they were…and we…and you killed them!”

“Pleathe, for the thake of my thanity, tell me thith whole fiathco wathnt about keeping your dumb Tamagotchi alive.”

You nod, feeling your lip quiver.

“Eridan Jr. and Erifef and Baby Orphy and little Erikat. I’ve had them since I was six sweeps. They were my friends!” you wail, the last part coming out half sob.

For a second, Sollux does nothing but stare at you blankly. Then, he raises a single finger and points to the door.

“Get the fuck out of my hive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please bolster my fragile self-image by leaving a kudos or something. Also, if you garnered some amount of enjoyment from this work, I have written other stories that are equally hilarious. At least, my mom thinks so.


End file.
